


Vengeance Is Mine

by TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Dark fic, Gen, Major character death - Freeform, More angst, One Shot, Post Season 13, abuse of biblical texts, bamf angel of the lord, blasphemy i guess, but not really, kind of reader insert, mostly canon compliant through season 13, not a HEA But kind of hopeful, not a happy fic, some gore, submission for #7deadlysinschallenge, wrath - Freeform, you are Cas with the character as established by canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen/pseuds/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen
Summary: Once, long ago, you had clothed yourself in fire, your sword raised high in your hand as you had laid waste to god’s enemies and delighted in bloodshed for the justice and glory of the divine plan. Content that the word of the lord as revealed by the ordained chain of command, was the only true and right path. That zeal you had felt, that purpose, that sense of completeness from perfect obedience - how all encompassing you had thought that feeling to be.You had thought you knew fury, the bright burn of holy wrath and fire of righteous vengeance.Oh how little you had known and how wrong you had been.





	Vengeance Is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was my submission for @ain_t_bovvered ‘s #7DeadlySinsChallenge on tumblr.  
> (http://ain-t-bovvered.tumblr.com/post/175234158627/waywardbaby-ain-t-bovvered-present-hiya-bitches)  
> But she is on here too if you like reader insert and wanna check out her stuff.
> 
> My Prompt was: You are fury, you are wrath, you are vengeance.  
> And of course my deadly sin is: Wrath.
> 
> This fic is the result. It is whatever the non-romantic equivalent of a Slow Burn is. All angst and description to be wallowed in and savoured. So um…… enjoy??
> 
> Rated Teen for angsty themes, some gore, and a little language at the end.
> 
> As always unbeta’d so apologies in advance for all errors.

It’s strange. There are things you know, things you do, things you have always done, since the very beginning of time itself. But in these last few years, in the tiny, infinitesimally small amount of time since you cast off everything you had ever held true - everything you had ever believed - and Fell, to stand alongside these two impossibly brilliant, impossibly confusing mortals - you have become used to experiencing strange things. New and different things. Things that you had never known were lacking before these two brought light and life into a cold dark universe. And your vessel, your body, has become familiar to you. Your brief time as a mortal had allowed you to experience its need for irritating mechanical functions like sustenance, urination and sleep. But you had been thankful to be relieved of such… human… requirements on a daily basis. Yet this body’s motions and general responses have become a background hum, a noise like the constant murmur of angel radio, like a wind through the trees, familiar and normal, but only there when you think on it.

-o-

Except now, now all you can feel is this weight constricting your chest. Like an archdemon has you pinned to a wall and without the flow of oxygen you will perish. But the oxygen that you have no requirement for, still refuses to enter your body. There is a mass in your stomach as if Famine has filled you past the point of endurance with ranced curdled red meat, yet still you cannot fill the empty terrifying void within yourself. Hands which are supposed to be tools, fleshy appendages subjugated without conscious thought to an angel’s every whim - hang lifeless and unresponsive at your sides, a fine tremor the only motion with which they will respond.

-o-

There is a pounding in the air. Another of those noises which only come into focus when you pay attention. But it is not the calm solid beat that has previously accompanied a battle with a fiend of hell or the interrogation of a witness. It is a frantic ragged beat, that stutters and falters. A mechanical valve, stuck or broken, that is failing in its objective to bring life to its container. But it is not your own heart that you are listening to. The sound of your heart is too pitiful to be heard over the faltering of this once unshakable force.

-o-

Red. The red is bright against the black. Bright like the tomato sauce that Dean likes to pour over his french fries. It holds the gaze, the stark contrast of the reddest red on the blackest black, impossible to ignore. It could be beautiful when taken in abstract, a colour to compare to roses or sunsets, framed against black like the deepest voids of space. But there is no beauty here. Nothing that can invoke joy or wonder. 

-o-

Even the bright flash of green, which normally holds every facet of verdient life on earth - holds no beauty this day. That green that shades a brilliance greater than any other you have ever known, is now glazed in a crystal shine that should rival the stars. Yet there is no life in the green, no glory, no wonder of creation. There should be no way for green to be empty, it is the colour of life and struggle and determination, but in this moment the green is a void. The pittless depths of isolation from which there can be no return.

-o-

The world is comprised of molecules. When your father made the universe he allowed stars to form and grow and explode, spreading their essence out across the vast reaches of space. From this essence new stars and new worlds grew. All things within this mortal plane are made of these molecules in one combination or another. The human fascination with mixing these molecules in various combinations and loudly extolling or bemoaning their virtues on the pallet, has always seemed inconsequential to you. Yet now the thick cloud of substance crawling across your tongue and seeping its insidious way down the back of your throat is undeniable. It should just be molecules. Sensory data to be analysed and catalogued, but it is thick and choking and foul. The smell of overcooked meat left to spoil in the sun, mixed with bright copper pennies and bitter bile. You should have no innate reaction attached to this sensory data, it should not cause such disgust and revolution, but the very taste of the air causes your vessel to rebel, to attempt to expel it from your body as if this would also void the knowledge of their source from your mind.

-o-

The source. The wisps of black smoke rising steadily through the air. Passing carelessly over a hand that lays fallen to the floor. A hand lightly curled, as if in soft repose, in sweet mild sleep. The work worn calluses on the long gentle digits somehow untouched by the splatters of red and black that coat the surface beyond. 

 

That same smoke that carries on past that other set of hunched and bent shoulders, slumped and trembling. Heaving every so often for breath that will not seem to come.

-o-

Yes it is strange how information you thought you understood, now suddenly makes no sense. How commands to the vessel you control, can be ignored and irrelevant. How the emotions you thought you had come understood and had grown to process, are nothing! nothing! compared to this gulf that is devouring you now. 

 

——o0o——

 

**10 minutes ago in an abandoned building at the edge of downtown Detroit**

(an impossibly short amount of time in the life of a human, let alone that of an eternal angel)

 

The plan had been well discussed and argued until there had been no further dissent. The location not ideal but necessary for the spell. The ingredients had been assembled in the dank grimey room, and laid out according to their purpose. The holy oil poured in a circle on the tattered floor. You had held ready the matches Sam had handed you. The tall steadfast mortal looking grim but determined as he stood before the summoning bowl. The herbs and sigils arranged in his characteristically precise and efficient manner. His weariness and heartbreak held in check by his fierce determination and steadfast refusal to give in, as he once more inspected the Hyperbolic Pulse Generator and Enochian warding. 

 

You had turned your gaze towards the witch, her face drawn into tight lines but her stance solid and her demeanor certain. As she had met your eyes, her nod had been small but firm and together you had turned to look to the hunter - the leader, the commander, his claim and his right to pursue this solution undisputed. His eyes had held understanding, compassion and strength beyond what any mortal should be capable of - yet his resolve and certainty had been undeniable as he had added his nod to the group.

 

The words he had called out in loud enochian had shivered through the room as he had lit the summoning herbs. You had felt the very Ether shake and quiver, as a mortal dared to command an Archangel to appear before him. But bound and pulled by the undeniable laws of deep magic, the energy in the room had built until the humans were forced to lower their eyes and you watched as the fabric of the world was parted and there before you stood the alternate version of your brother Michael, wearing the body of the man you would gladly lay down your immortal life for. 

 

Before the humans had recovered their sight and before the other could draw to himself his vast power, you had flung the lit match into the holy oil. Stepping back as you felt the heat of the holy flames roar to life, encircling the angel and cutting him off from his grace. You had felt his will batter against the barrier of the flames seeking a week point in his prison, but the trap had been flawless, he had been securely contained. 

 

The other, that abomination, that twisted and broken parody of your already twisted and broken brother, had been given no chance to speak or find a way to harm his vessel. Roaring to the younger Winchester you had commanded him to begin. And he had raised aloft the golden orb and slammed a bloodied palm into the blood sigil painted on the wall, commanding in perfect Enochian that the angel depart its host. And as Michael had begun to scream, and power to coalesse and swirl around him, you had turned to see the witch begin her chant. Within the astral plane a glowing tunnel formed between the room and the deepest corner of the Pit of Hell where the cage was held. The wall where once 4 rings had opened a door, began to shiver and split as air rushed into the vacuum of a newly created hole in the veil. You had observed, tense and ready, as Michael screamed louder in rage and struggled more fiercely, realising that you were not just expelling him but intended to bind him in a cage. And you had seen for the briefest moment the point where Dean had wrest back control over his body, where he had met his brother’s eyes. You had heard the silent: ‘It’s okay Sammy, it's going to be Okay, I’ve got him.’ Even though no words had been spoken. You had seen each syllable proclaimed in fierce green eyes, unshakable eye contact and the definative nod of silent Winchester communication. And the joy that had spread across Sam Winchester’s face had been like the first morning of creation. The first time the gold of the sun kissed the green of the earth and never had the world been more blessed.

 

And then…. and then, the unthinkable had happened. It was a valid tactical strategery. At the point of no return, when all other options were lost, the final solution was to take out as many of the enemy with you as possible. And for an angel that meant only one thing. Yet the notion hadn't even occurred to you, despite all your meticulous planning and extensive military knowledge. The fact that you had overlooked this course of action was rediculous because the Winchesters did it all the time. It was practically a default setting for those two, sacrificing oneself for the other or the greater good. And somehow you had come to ascribe this action to altruistic motives and forgotten that it served equally well for vengeance. 

 

Michael had released his grace. The grace of an archangel thrust from its bounds with the explosive force of a thousand nuclear bombs. The tidal wave of blinding energy roaring out from the epicenter like a tsunami to drown the whole world. The holy fire had blown out unable to stand against such power and the wave of destruction had torn through anything within a hundred mile radius - obliterating and pulversing all earthly matter within its path.

 

However it seemed that the holy fire had produced some protective cover, for at the eye of the storm in a perfect ring of preserved space, Dean had lain whole and unconscious on the apartment floor. While outside of the ring the degree of damage had increased exponentially until the walls themselves had been blown away and the remains of the room stood exposed atop a smoking crater that stretched as far as the eye could see in what had once been a bustling city.

 

Of the witch there was no sign, either she had been quick enough with some spell to port herself way or she had stood at the edge of the blast, blown to pieces and vapourised like every other structure and person within the city. For her sake you hoped it was the former but you had no thought to spare for that because your eyes were stuck on the smoking ruined body that lay just across the cusp of the lethal destruction. 

 

One of Sam’s hands lay stretched towards his brother, whole and untouched, perfect in its gentle rest, if you ignored everything else. But small burn marks marred the cuff of his plaid shirt and up his sleeve in increasing quantities until you reached the burned and charred remains of his once beautiful face. The glorious multi coloured orbs that had held the world's reserve of hope and compassion despite the unimaginable amount of pain they had seen and endured - lay melted in the blackened smoking ruins of blood soaked raw meat bearing no resemblance to a face. 

 

It should have been the greatest injustice that the universe had ever witnessed. And indeed it was. Until Dean had groaned weakly and rolled onto his side, the word ‘Sammy’ leaving his lips before his eyes had even opened.

 

It was the sound that had torn from his throat at the sight of his brother that had caused your heart to falter. The way that he had dragged himself across the floor that had caused your chest to become tight. The crystal tears that had fallen unheeded from his dull green eyes as he hunched his shoulders over his brother’s ruined form and struggled to gather his breath, that had caused your unresponsive hands to tremble. The smell of Sam’s burnt and desecrated remains floating serenely in the breeze that caused your stomach to rebel. 

 

And it was too much. There were no words to describe these feelings. No way to analyse and understand the enormity of this reaction, not for a mortal used to their pain and struggles and heartbreak, and certainly not for an angel still new to the knowledge of family and need, of love and loss. 

 

——o0o——

 

What broke your thoughts, was the reaper. She appeared over the fallen brothers - one silent, one silenced - without making a sound. But her presence intruded even through the weight of your incomprehensible emotions.

 

What broke you, were the green eyes that were raised to meet her ancient gaze in her expressionless face. They were dead - as empty and ruined as the smoking body clutched beneath them. Within them was nothing that made them glorious and vibrant and worth Falling for. They were empty, utterly defeated and shattered. 

 

And when a single eyebrow was slowly raised on the beautiful but pitless face of Death, nothing changed in the dead green orbs as the chin dropped once in the smallest nod. Before all three vanish from this world.

 

——o0o——

 

_ Deuteronomy Chapter 32  _

  1. _To me belongeth vengeance, and recompense; their foot shall slide in due time: for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste…._
  2. _If I whet my glittering sword, and mine hand take hold on judgment; I will render vengeance to mine enemies, and will reward them that hate me. 42 I will make mine arrows drunk with blood, and my sword shall devour flesh; and that with the blood of the slain and of the captives, from the beginning of revenges upon my enemy._



 

There was a time Before. Before you felt the fire of life, and the joy of Free Will and the unshakable faith in a mere mortal who would deny even the gods themselves - where you had thought you understood righteous wrath and vengeance. You had stood like the coming of the dawn, terrible and immovable at the command of your father. You had clothed yourself in fire, your sword raised high in your hand and you had laid waste god’s enemies and delighted in bloodshed for the justice and glory of the divine plan. Content that the word of the lord as revealed by the ordained chain of command, was the only true and right path. That zeal you had felt, that purpose, that sense of completeness from perfect obedience - how all encompassing you had thought that feeling to be. 

 

Oh how little you had known and how wrong you had been. 

 

But even in the time Before, you had felt things start to change and stir within you. Your father had become silent. The commands for your garrison less frequent. And by the time the Prophets of the Lord had began to revel new gospels, you had watched with a keen eye, as unknown to you the seeds of rebellion somehow took root in your sterile heart.

 

_ Romans Chapter 12 _

_ 19 Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto God’s wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; saith the Lord, I will repay. _

 

The mortals had counseled peace and forgiveness in their holy books. Trusting in our father to avenge their injustices. But our father had not seen fit to intervene, is it any wonder that they faltered and strayed. 

 

And the Most Holy had not seen fit to protect his creations when they realised the end was at hand and their destruction was nigh. He had let his first born children subvert his will to hasten the end of days for their own purposes. He had not seen fit to offer reprimand to his angels or succour to his imperilled children - no matter how much we pleaded or begged. 

 

No. The task of saving creation had fallen to two perfectly imperfect brothers. Who against all odds had done that which should not have been possible and rewritten the rule book for us all. Allowing one insignificant angel to understand the meaning and beauty and pain of Free Will. And if you, one unremarkable angel could grow and learn and love then there should have been hope for the whole world.

 

Yet here you stand for the umpteenth time. Where once again these two fragile and resilient humans, have placed themselves before the fate of the world in lew of its creator. And where is your father? When once again his angels threaten his creation, where is he? While the brightest stars in his glorious universe lie crumbled and ground into dust, to be thrown into the Empty in payment for offering their lives on behalf of an ungrateful world- WHERE. IS. HE.

 

Vengeance is mine saith the lord, I will repay. 

 

Fuck that. 

 

Fuck your absent father. Fuck destiney and fuck this world too.

 

You razed Sodom and Gomorrah to the ground. Smote down the young and the old with brimstone and destruction. You desenced clothed in fire and slaughtered the first born of Egypt. You stormed the gates of Hell, incinerating the foulest fiends in their thousands and tore the righteous man from the Pit. You decimated the population of Heaven. Fury knows no bounds within you. Wrath comes like a cur to your call. And Vengeance is the flame that burns within your soul.

 

You will take up the sword and lay waste to the Earth, you will fill Heaven and Hell to bursting with every thankless soul, those who looked on uncaring as the best of them were struck low,  ungraciously slaughtered, to be cast away without thanks or praise. 

 

And when every single soul has been harvested you will consume every last one of them, till no power in this universe or any other may stand before you, and you will storm the Empty itself. You will rain down such fury and destruction as no apocalypse could have ever have foretold and you will take back the souls of your friends. And this ungrateful world can be left to rot, empty and ruined in the absence of its uncaring father.

 

**For you are fury, you are wrath, you are vengeance** and there is nothing and no one you would put before the Winchesters.

 

And if anything stands in your way, may god have mercy on their souls, for whatever good it will do - because that bastard is next on your list.

FIN


End file.
